Something strange happens when I wear the baby. I slip into a black carrier, strap the baby in, make sure she’s snug, put a hat over her tiny head, then head out. A woman with a baby on her hip? So common most people wouldn’t notice. But a man, by himself, with a baby on his chest, bobbing and bouncing with every step? Before I might have been invisible to the world. Now people look twice. Tough guys on the corner smirk, sometimes laugh. Ladies behind the donut counter wave. Security guards soften their glare and grin. Pretty women stop to talk. Old men smile. When I wear the baby strangers...